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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599702">Waiting Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>boys of the raven variety (my TRC fics) [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book 2: The Dream Thieves, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Poly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:48:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s not that Adam doesn’t like Noah, that he doesn’t value him, but the uncomfortable truth of the matter is that he hardly <strong>knows</strong> him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Noah and Adam bond and also make out. You’re welcome.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Noah Czerny/Adam Parrish, implied noah czerny/Ronan lynch/Richard Gansey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>boys of the raven variety (my TRC fics) [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fanfic Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Waiting Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1">The last few days, Adam has sensed Noah hanging about his shoulder, when he’s not </span> <em> <span class="s2">enough</span> </em> <span class="s1"> for realness and seen him sending nervous, furtive little glances when he is. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">At least, Adam </span> <em> <span class="s2">thinks </span> </em> <span class="s1">they’re nervous—it’s hard to to tell, with Noah. Even when he’s happy, there’s an apparent element of worry to it—the constant shadow of someone not-quite-living on borrowed time. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s beside the point that Noah’s sudden attention is </span> <span class="s2"><em>creepy</em>— </span> <span class="s1">Noah’s always creepy, even when Blue’s there and he could be mistaken for alive. Even more then, maybe. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Maybe the more relevant oddity of the matter is that he is </span> <em> <span class="s2">Adam </span> </em> <span class="s1">and <em>Noah</em> is </span> <span class="s2">Noah. </span> <span class="s1">It’s not that Adam doesn’t </span> <span class="s2">like Noah</span> <span class="s1">, that he doesn’t value him, but the uncomfortable truth of the matter is that he hardly </span> <em> <span class="s2">knows </span> </em> <span class="s1">him. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They’re pleasant with each other—perfectly content to interact, but Adam can’t recall a single instance of them ever talking </span> <em> <span class="s2">alone</span></em><span class="s1">, without one of the others serving as a social conduit. To be fair, Noah makes everything in one’s brain a little hazy, but individual events tend to be spared—it’s just the </span> <em> <span class="s2">timeline </span> </em> <span class="s1">that comes out all jumbled. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s too uncomfortable to say out loud, that in their unbreakable little group full of the sort of bonds found in legends, he and Noah are simply—. There. Casually friendly. It’s not as if he can bring it up, not just because he is </span> <em> <span class="s2">Adam</span> </em> <span class="s1"> but also because it feels almost like sacrilege to acknowledge the point of weakness. A simple, </span> <em> <span class="s2">Hey, wanna talk? Get to know each other? </span> </em> <span class="s1">seems like such an inherently mundane way to know a person that it would forever halt them from being friends in the way their world seemed to demand. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">In truth, Adam has almost been </span> <em> <span class="s2">waiting</span> </em> <span class="s1"> for a catalyst— he’s not </span> <em> <span class="s2">hoping </span> </em> <span class="s1">for a possibly-perilous supernatural adventure, but he would be a fool to say he isn’t, at least on some level, </span> <span class="s2"><em>expecting</em> one. </span> <span class="s1">Something to neatly tie them together like Ronan and Gansey, or Gansey and him, or even the now-rocky shores between him and Blue. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But more than Adam is superstitious, Adam is running on three hours of sleep and an ungodly amount of caffeine, so when he sees Noah out of the corner of Boyd’s, sending him sad suggestions of eyes, he finally slams down his wrench and turns to face him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Noah?” He whistles through clenched teeth, and immediately regrets it. Noah’s face crumples like he’s dying all over again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.” He says, almost too faintly to be heard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam feels his face soften, just the slightest bit. It’s hard to stay mad at Noah— the world’s hard enough on him as it is. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you hanging around.” He observes, with no real bite. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Maybe he’s like a cat,</span></em><span class="s1"> Adam thinks. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Should I go psspsspssspsss</em>? </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thought is enough to breed a little quirk of a smile—the exhausted man’s show of mirth. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Noah seems to take this as an invitation, drifting-over. It’s disconcerting— he doesn’t exactly </span> <em> <span class="s2">fly,</span></em><span class="s1"> the way ghosts in movies do, but if Adam forces his eyes to focus on the other boy, he realizes that his legs never quite </span> <span class="s2">move, </span> <span class="s1">at least not without Blue around. They </span> <em> <span class="s2">twitch,</span></em><span class="s1"> like a limb experiencing tremors after death. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam looks away, towards the pinup calendar for three year’s prior on the shop wall. He feels something close to bile sting his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of the model’s heads has been pierced with a nail, pinning the page to the cork backboard. It scars and tears the spot around her right eye, but still she smiles brilliantly, laughing as she receives a call on a rotary telephone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems nowhere is safe to look, anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re creeping yourself out.” Noah’s voice whispers from a spot alarmingly close to Adam’s ear. “Stop it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam does not jolt, although it is a close thing—he is very satisfied with himself for this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus christ,” he breathes out. “You’ve got to stop doing that, man.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah tilts his head, and something the contents of that particular spot in the universe seem to spill and shift, like a substance edging the line between liquid and gas. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What? Moving? I did, seven years ago.” Adam gulps uncomfortably for a moment, trying to figure out the ‘</span> <em> <span class="s2">sorry</span> </em> <span class="s1">’ most befitting the situation, before Noah’s skull cracks into a grin. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>He was joking</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Adam realizes, with the strange sister of relief. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Well,” Noah says, “now that you’re amused-“ </span> <span class="s2"><em>Am I</em>? </span> <span class="s1">Adam thinks, and he’s honestly not sure of the answer. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“-I made out with Blue.” Noah finishes, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Adam doesn’t see the motion of them going in—instead, it’s suddenly just very </span> <em> <span class="s2">obvious </span> </em> <span class="s1">they are there, like they might have been balled up in his uniform the entire time. Perhaps he usually doesn’t even </span> <span class="s2">have </span> <span class="s1">hands, just when he needs to </span> <span class="s2">convey </span> <span class="s1">something. Adam had seen a horror movie like that, once, he thinks. Minus the whole </span> <em> <span class="s2">conveying </span> </em> <span class="s1">part. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Adam is so caught up in </span> <span class="s2">hands </span> <span class="s1">and his own exhaustion that it takes a few awkward moments for the words to register. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” he says, suddenly very aware of every nerve and muscle in his body. “That certainly isn’t what I was expecting.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Was it?” Noah asks, and it’s clear now that it’s an attempt at humor, but it’s also clear what that strange, </span> <em> <span class="s2">nervous </span> </em> <span class="s1">expression had been— guilt. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Was it—was it before or after...” Adam begins, throat thick. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“After.” Noah answers. “Still, I wanted to tell you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Is it because you’re—“ Adam gestures towards Noah’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>Noah</em>-</span><span class="s1">ness. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Dead?” Noah prompts, and Adam nods. Noah shrugs, and somehow he manages to convey the </span> <em> <span class="s2">spirit </span> </em> <span class="s1">of blushing even without real blood in his veins. “A little. I’d like to think it was a little because of me, too.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam recalls Noah in Blue’s lap in the pig, him touching her hair when in a way that would have made her bite someone else. Them giggling together as Ronan hits his head on something on a branch or car-roof.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure it was.” Adam says, and finds that he means it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you’re not mad?” Noah asks hopefully. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m trying not to think about it too hard.” Adam admits, scratching the back of his neck. He’s not </span> <span class="s2"><em>angry</em>, </span> <span class="s1">at least, because Noah hadn’t exactly </span> <em> <span class="s2">wronged </span> </em> <span class="s1">him and even if he had— well, it’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>Noah</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Ronan does worse than he could on a Sunday. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But </span> <span class="s2"><em>jealousy</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Adam is willing to admit that he is deeply, painfully </span> <span class="s2"><em>jealous</em>. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s a good kisser.” Noah adds, one pale finger on his chin like an ancient scholar. Adam sighs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ghostly boy shrugs indifferently. Attention apparently wavering, he starts examining the mechanical bits and pieces scattered across a nearby table. He holds a nut up to his shadowed eye like a telescope. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop that.” Adam says, without any real force. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” Noah begins, ignoring Adam’s order. “That makes you the only one I haven’t kissed.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, Adam’s mind goes completely, brilliantly blank.And then, carefully, each word measured to completely neutrality, he says—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah hums that awful squash-song and fiddles with the wrong-end of a wrench. “I’ve kissed Gansey, Ronan, and Blue. You’re the only one left.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You’ve </span> <em> <span class="s2">fucking what?</span> </em> <span class="s1">” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Noah looks a little exasperated. “</span> <span class="s2">Kissed, </span> <span class="s1">Adam.” He shoves his hands together a few times. “Like, with lips.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam just states, and then Noah’s face falls mournfully. “Oh, right—your ear—-I’m sorry-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no, that’s. That’s not it. I heard what you said.” Adam interjects. “Just. Are you serious? You’re not joking?” He can feel his Henrietta accent coming out thicker than car-oil that hadn’t been changed in a decade, but it doesn’t seem like the moment to care. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Adam.” Noah frowns. “Why would I joke about that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Adam lets out a sigh, a </span> <em> <span class="s2">psssshhhh-</span> </em> <span class="s1">sounding thing that hisses like a popped tire. He leans back against the faded-blue body of an old Ford. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna make out?” Noah asks, legs twitching from where he’s decided to perch on a foldout-table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The crazy part is that Adam doesn’t immediately decline. It’s like he’s reached some sort of fucked-up event-horizon where Noah Czerny asking him to lock lips suddenly seems like a half-reasonable offer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just like, for fun?” Adam asks carefully, studying the spiderwebs in the corner of the ceiling. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah. Unless you have any curses you haven’t told us about?” Noah says it like this— </span> <em> <span class="s2">told us about, </span></em><span class="s1">like he is only a section of a larger unit, a single arm of a strange and fantastical organism. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam just watches the fan slowly sputter in a circle, it’s lamp casting a sickly-yellow light across the room. He could have watched for an hour. He could have watched for a minute. The whole time, Noah is patiently playing with nuts and bolts and screws in the background, no doubt creating some sort of mess. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This one,” he hears him murmur at some point, “goes here.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it with such self-assuredness that Adam knows he is almost-certainly wrong. Aglionby boys are almost comforting in that regard, even after they are dead. There is a strict line of predictability to their shortcomings. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, sits up and says without any particular thought to it— “Alright.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He is not sure </span> <span class="s2">why </span> <span class="s1">he accepts Noah’s offer— maybe it’s that strange and many-parted creature that all of them form, that makes it seem so much less strange than it ought to. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Maybe</em>, </span> <span class="s1">he thinks, </span> <em> <span class="s2">this is the catalyst I’ve been holding my breath for, and it turns out that the catalyst is just really, really weird. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Awesome.” Noah grins enthusiastically, seemingly unaware or uncaring of quite how morbid the expression looks. He pumps his fist too, for good measure. For the first time he can think of, Adam wonders exactly what Noah was like when he was alive. He can’t believe he’d never thought about it before. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Just for the record,” Adam mutters as rises to his feet, wincing at the pins and needles in his limbs “that is a </span> <em> <span class="s2">terrible</span> </em> <span class="s1"> opener, telling a guy that you made out with his ex girlfriend.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah rolls his eyes, and the pale blue of his irises smudge and shift like smoke. He has no discernible pupils, Adam realizes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah is making grabby-hands in Adam’s direction, apparently unwilling to leave his spot on the table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brat.” Adam tells him, grinning in spite of himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gansey calls us that sometimes.” Noah chirps, and Adam winces. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Too much information, dude.” He tries to keep the image of the three of them doing...</span> <em> <span class="s2">explicit </span> </em> <span class="s1">things out of his mind. A little to his own consternation, it is not an </span> <em> <span class="s2">unpleasant </span> </em> <span class="s1">image. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah sticks out his bottom lip. “What, you jealous? You know Gansey would let you stay at Monmouth in a heartbeat. He’d be over the moon if you were there. Blue, too, but she’s cursed.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam raises an eyebrow. “So you can just have sex with her instead? Ghost privileges?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Noah grins, even as he covers his eyes with a smudgy hand. “We only </span> <span class="s2">kissed, </span> <span class="s1">Adam. A couple times. Laying down. In Gansey’s bed.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2"><em>What</em>?</span> <span class="s1">” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah laughs, high and sharp like a bird—it’s almost Ronan-like, but Adam isn’t given much time to ponder before Noah’s lips find his. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The first thing that registers is the </span><span class="s2">cold</span><span class="s1">— this is</span> <span class="s1">nothing like the experimental middle-school kisses in the trailer park, of the heated gasps he’d imagine hearing from Blue at night. Noah is like kissing the snow. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But once he gets past the frigid temperature, he realizes that Noah is </span> <em> <span class="s2">good </span> </em> <span class="s1">at this, lips moving with the sort of easy rhythm that comes from practice. Adam feels a twinge of embarrassment in his chest at his own fumblings to keep up. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noah breaks away to allow Adam to breath, and as he does he kisses frigid little dots along his jaw and ear. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You’re overthinking it.” He murmurs next to his earlobe. Adam hopes distantly that he hasn’t got any motor-oil on his face. “See? You’re stressed. Just </span> <span class="s2">chill.</span> <span class="s1">” He punctuates this with a nip to his skin, and Adam a little, high in his chest, in surprise. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t stop thinking-“ Adam protests against the shifting waves of Noah’s hair. “It’s what I do.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam feels Noah grin mischievously against his cheek. “Oh really?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Noah places his hands under Adam’s shirt, along the curve of his hips, and Adam squirms a little as the muggy heat of the shop evaporates along his skin. Against the corner of his lips, he feels another the shape of another whisper— “I can help you with that, </span> <span class="s2"><em>sir</em>.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam is sure that if he could see himself in that moment, he would watch his pupils spill over his iris like an oil spill. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>That’s a kink I didn’t know I had</em>, </span> <span class="s1">he thinks dizzily, before he’s pushing Noah down over the table with a clatter. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit,” he mutters, “did that hu-“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m dead.” Noah reminds him. “Just kiss me again already.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right.” Adam responds, voice heavy with something like excitement. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he does. </span>
</p>
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